Because the stars are without number,
because the stars are goddesses.
Morning, cloak us in your veil,
and better our steel and steed, over theirs.
Evening, close the gates behind us.
We be three sisters, hers and hers and hers.
Midnight, hold the sun in your arms
a little longer, though they blister.
Three hundred years of clotted Georgia,
stars to muck to blood to clay.
Three numberless stars shimmering
the predator’s love into his empty hands.
First, Middle and Last, safe-keep us
and our battleship-born generations of sisters
in struggle, injury and doom,
in forests, in starlight, in fog, in your arms.
because the stars are goddesses.
Morning, cloak us in your veil,
and better our steel and steed, over theirs.
Evening, close the gates behind us.
We be three sisters, hers and hers and hers.
Midnight, hold the sun in your arms
a little longer, though they blister.
Three hundred years of clotted Georgia,
stars to muck to blood to clay.
Three numberless stars shimmering
the predator’s love into his empty hands.
First, Middle and Last, safe-keep us
and our battleship-born generations of sisters
in struggle, injury and doom,
in forests, in starlight, in fog, in your arms.